


Rebecca Comes at the End

by CPericardium



Series: The LBD-verse [2]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Girls In Suits, Masturbation, Roommates, Sex Toys, self-care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPericardium/pseuds/CPericardium
Summary: or, Four Times Rebecca Costa-Brown Didn’t Finish and One Time She DidRebecca doesn’t ask for a lot out of life. Adventure, excitement, a good book always at her fingertips. To not relapse. To become the single most comprehensive living repository of knowledge in the world. Her stupid sexy roommate Contessa.Yes, Rebecca is a girl with simple needs.Unfortunately, she keeps getting interrupted when she tries to fill them.[Set in my modern college no powers AU Life Bends Down. xbritomartx's companion pieces to this story can be found in the LBD-verse series and will be linked after each chapter.]This smut collection is also known as Life Bends Over.





	Rebecca Comes at the End

“Why do you always have to go when I have to go?” Rebecca complained from the threshold of their closet-sized bathroom. “I feel like frickin’ Pavlov over here.”

Her hand still on the knob, she made way for Contessa to enter.

“I only go at set times throughout the day, if at all,” Contessa said sternly. She gestured at the schedule pinned on their shared corkboard as she breezed past. “It’s your own fault if you insist on going when I do.”

The door closed in Rebecca’s face.

“Yeah, well, pencil in your pee break when I’m not late for class, Contessa!” She flattened her back against the door, arms folded. “I was here first. Have you no respect for dibs?”

She heard the toilet flush. Before she could move, the door swung open and Rebecca fell backwards onto the tiles.

Contessa stepped over her, briskly adjusting her sleeve cuffs.

“That was… really fast,” said Rebecca. She got up. “Did you even wash your hands?”

Looking offended, Contessa waved a hand, sprinkling drops of water on Rebecca’s shirt.

Rebecca snorted and batted at her arm in protest. “I bet you didn’t even use soap.”

“Some of us don’t need to forgo basic hygiene in order to be prompt.”

At the sink, Rebecca checked the pump of the soap dispenser and confirmed that it had indeed been used recently. She leaned out of the bathroom to make a wry comment, but her breath hitched.

Contessa stood just outside the doorway of their dorm, inspecting the contents of her messenger bag before slinging it over her shoulder. Her white blouse drew taut across her shoulders and trim waist, and Rebecca admired how perfectly tailored her slacks were—clinging as they did to her narrow hips.

She swivelled her head as though she felt Rebecca’s gaze on her, and arched a quizzical eyebrow. When Rebecca didn’t respond, she swept a hand down her own back, perhaps expecting to find a note taped to it.

“Have a good day,” Rebecca finally managed to say, knowing Contessa would be checking herself for traps all morning if she remained silent.

Contessa gave her another suspicious look, followed by a cautious nod. Then she closed the door, leaving Rebecca to continue her morning routine alone.

Rebecca turned back to the sink and splashed her cheeks, which were warmer than they had been.

She was just about done brushing her teeth when her phone honked. Towelling off her face, she went to check her messages.

> **David** : No geog today. Prof sick.

Setting her phone down, she sank into her bed.

The lecture on atmospheric cycles was cancelled.

She had been looking forward to it too—she’d stayed up reading about trade winds late into the night, dreamt of tropical cyclones, woken with wetter-than-average conditions in her underwear.

Rebecca thought about her class topics in more detail than was probably healthy. As she contemplated El Niño and its effects on ocean currents, her own temperature climbed, particularly down south. Her hips began to oscillate. An urge to get her textbook out and peruse that section one more time prickled at her skin, but she didn’t want to get up just yet.

Her fingers skimmed the valley of moist cotton between her legs. She bit back a noise, before remembering she was alone.

Her next class was at four. Bonus: her roommate likely wouldn’t be back till tonight. She could crash another lecture, or—  

She smiled, and slid her panties and pyjama bottoms to her ankles to give her fingers easier access.

As she went to town, she caught sight of the bronze crucifix hanging over her bed and tried to decide whether she should rotate it so the little sculpted figure was facing the other way or so the cross was upside-down. Was it worse that Jesus saw or that the Antichrist watched? Maybe it would be worse if she actually touched it with her tainted hands.

She needed to distract herself with sexier thoughts. Sometimes her imagination conjured up faceless boys and that was enough. That and pages and pages of poorly written Tumblr-hosted erotica.

She’d long ago concluded it was okay not to be a snob about porn.

After locking the door, Rebecca set her laptop on her desk chair and pushed that up against her bed. It didn’t matter that she’d have to keep twisting on her side to see the screen—glimpsing words even in flashes was enough to send her mind into a frenzy about their form, their etymology. Some people liked pictures or videos. Rebecca craved lexical stimulation.

Her hand wandered under her shirt, and brushed over her hard nipples. She hooked two fingers up against her clit. Heat coiled within her the harder she rubbed, begging for release.

 _Faster._ She needed to go faster.

With great difficulty, she rose and walked over to her desk. Every step made her slick inner thighs slide against each other, shooting tingles up her spine.

She rummaged through the bottom drawer until she found her bag of sex toys. Of them, three were vibrators: a compact pink battery-operated bullet vibe that had given up the ghost on Valentine’s Day last year but that she kept for sentimental value and on the off chance that it would resurrect itself for one last ride, because that thing had been ejaculation station; a teal rabbit whose clitoral stimulator was little more than a disappointing embellishment, as she preferred to use the heel of her palm on that locale anyway due to it being less pointy and less intent on grinding her nub into dust like a sexual pestle; and a huge purple massager she reserved for special occasions.

Being extra horny counted.

The toy hadn’t come with a pouch. Since she wasn’t so inclined to keep around a box boasting of the device’s waterproof exterior, seven speeds and multitude of pattern settings, she’d repurposed a cheap foam pencil case. Even that was too small—the bulbous tip protruded obscenely against the zipper. She took the massager out, hefting it, running her fingers along the velvety surface.

She lay on her bed and scrolled through text posts till she found something verbose enough to savour. She was going to do this properly, _really_ get off. It had been a long time since she’d had the opportunity.

She read slowly. It was a collated series of fanfiction drabbles tagged _The Good Wife_ ; though she hadn’t yet watched the show, she could appreciate women in suits getting frisky. She nudged at her lower lips with the rounded head of the vibrator, picking up moisture from inside her. Spreading her legs, she began sliding it up and down her slit in long, slow strokes.

“ _Mmmm..._ ”

She guided the length of the toy into her, revelling in its smooth solid firmness as it filled her up.

Then she turned it on.

She cried out. The vibrator roared into her flesh—resonated through the parts of her that yearned for sensation, like before she’d been an inert hunk of metal and now she was a lightning rod, and the electricity was diving into her, and each bolt was jerking her towards a greased precipice.

She braced the ball of her palm on her mound, conducting the pulse over her clit. Thumb on the button, she raised the speed a few notches. Her left side was more sensitive, so she kept the quivering head pressed against her right, and kneaded into one wall of flesh while the vibrations tickled the other. She whined and shuddered in time, tugging her thighs together and wrenching them apart.

The duvet bunched up around her legs. She kicked it away in annoyance, wondering why fabric always contrived to get in the way when she least wanted it.

Leaving the toy on for too long at one speed either pushed her too close or lost its impact; she vacillated between extremes to draw out the pleasure. Whenever she felt she was tipping over, she dialed the speed down until the throbbing became little more than an echo of a drumbeat and she had to strain just to feel it.

At its lowest speed, it took all her self-control not to start ramming the toy into herself.  

When she closed her eyes, her mind flared with images. They were mostly flashes of colour, hints of outline. Repeating rings burned into her vision by the ceiling light, the cyclone from her dream, snippets of stories she’d just read, her roommate leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a tie and a smirk—

Rebecca’s eyes shot open. She breathed in sharply.

 _No thinking about people you know,_ she told herself, even as a wet thrill ran through her groin. _That makes it weird._

Imaginary Contessa loosened her tie and let it fall to the floor.

 _But sometimes the people you know are_ super _pretty…_

Rebecca gazed at the ceiling. She spent a few seconds intensely regretting this rule.

Eventually she closed her eyes again, allowed herself to imagine only the aspects she desired, without attaching them to the girl herself. A sort of sensual synecdoche. Smooth milk skin gliding over her nipples, muscles rippling hard and hot against her stomach. Long dexterous fingers applying delicious pressure to the most tender spots below her waist. Hips grinding—

Rebecca whimpered, her knees butterflying apart. Her grip on the handle tightened.

“Hnghhh...”

Rebecca turned the vibrator back on, and her left hand groped her breasts while her right worked the shaft over her inner walls. In between the starbursts of pleasure she could almost feel her roommate’s callous eyes bearing down on her, could pretend it was her stroking and squeezing and thrusting.

“ _Unnngh_...”

She was soaking the sheets now, legs straining to make way for the fist pistoning so forcefully between them that the vibrator might as well have been off. She let the moans roll full-bodied from her throat, because no one was around, no one would _hear_ —  

She was so close.

“ _Oh_ —C-con—” said Rebecca, hissing through gritted teeth, “— _tessa_ —”

As she said it, she looked up and locked eyes with her roommate, who had entered while she was busy fucking herself into the stratosphere.

Contessa stood by her desk. Her jaw worked soundlessly into the cellphone against her ear. She blinked once.

Rebecca blinked back, panting, her mind still hazy with arousal. The pulsing ebbed. She looked down. Only then did she realise what Contessa was staring at.

The duvet, draped over the far corner of the mattress. Rebecca’s bare breasts poking out from beneath a rucked-up shirt. The still-humming vibrator buried between her thighs.

Having spent her teenage years in a hospital ward, Rebecca was no stranger to the notion of dying. It had once cast a pall over her waking moments, and not just because she occasionally witnessed the passing of people around her. As a sommelier knew fine wines, she was intimately familiar with all the gradations of cold that crept across her extremities at night, reminding her of the mortality being leached every second she lay hooked up to the machines meant to save her. She’d written her goodbyes, had personally selected the verse to be carved into her columbarium plaque. Nothing about having one foot in the grave was fun or appealing in the slightest. Rebecca Costa-Brown was the last person on earth who would say she’d ever truly embrace that darkness.

Everyone else must have just spoken their piece.

Because right now, all at once, Rebecca wanted death.

Contessa squeezed her eyes shut and spun around. She muttered into the phone, “I’ll call you back in five.”

“Aaahhhhhh! Get out, get out, get out!” Rebecca yanked down her shirt. She clamped her legs together, and swore as her thumb fumbled over the handle of the vibrator. The time the button had to be held down to _just turn off_ was grounds for a lawsuit.

Contessa had a hand over her eyes. The other flipped frantically through the rolodex on her desk. “Rebecca, next time use the security chain!”

“You _break_ the security chain all the time! Learn to knock!” In her panicked tussle to get the duvet over her lower self, Rebecca only succeeded in getting even more tangled up without covering anything important. “Why are you still here!”

“Why are _you_?” Contessa retorted. “I just need—”

“ _Get out!_ ”

Contessa ripped an index card out of the rolodex, plastic sheath and all. She swept out of the room without so much as a word or backward glance.

Rebecca half-leapt, half-fell from her bed, buckling from the sudden weakness in her knees. She staggered over to the door and wrestled with the lock. Some adrenaline-fuelled hauling and shoving later, she managed to get her desk in front of it.

She returned to her bed, chest heaving. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. The rest of her was embarrassingly sticky, and unbearably heated against the damp sheets cooling around her like the ashes of her almost-orgasm. Her crotch felt numb, as though even her nerves had melted from the mortification.  

Out of morbid curiosity, she prodded at her mound. She jolted at the flaming shot of pain, then planted her face in her hands at the smoldering ache that followed. All that was left was soreness and shame and the inescapable knowledge that she would never be able to look her roommate in the eye again. She looked at the crucifix and resisted making a profane gesture in its direction.

Then she lay back, pulled a pillow over her face, and groaned long and deep.

Mother Mary had been right to avoid all this.

It wasn’t worth it.

 ✶✶✶

POST-CREDITS MOOD MUSIC: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2WH8mHJnhM 

**Author's Note:**

> Important notice  
> THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS STORY HAS BEEN TOLD BY ROON (AKA XBRITOMARTX) AND YOU SHOULD READ IT RIGHT NOW  
> [COMPANION PIECE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930866)!!!!
> 
> Mucho thanks to maroon_sweater and Gaia for the betaing and profDEADPOOL for, like, two useful comments.


End file.
